Praestigium
by Dowash
Summary: Praestigium: Delusion; Illusion; Magic Trick.
1. This is how it begins

**A.N:** Long time no see, my lovelies! Here's an AU Harry/Sirius story for you guys that I wrote a while back. Like most of you already know, my work (almost) always contains intimate interactions between these two lovely gents, so if male/male or Harry/Sirius in particular is not your cup of tea... I wish you a very good day :) Everyone else, feel free to pour through this and drop me a few lines afterwards!

 **Disclaimer:** Not my characters or places but I borrowed them into my own world. No profit is made.

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1\. This is how it all begins:

Harry Potter, age fifteen, sits in a brightly lit bathroom on a downturned toilet seat holding a magazine in his hand. He is wearing only his pajama bottoms.

Harry Potter, age fifteen, should be in bed by now; it's way past midnight and the house of Grimmauld Place, Twelve, is quiet all around him. But Harry cannot sleep. Like on so many nights before, he has twisted and turned on his bed until the bedsheets were strangling him and he was bathing in sweat.

Harry cannot sleep, because he is too terrified of what he sometimes sees when he closes his eyes. He's had a reoccurring nightmare since that spring.

But right now, now when everything that will matter concerning our story is about to happen, Harry isn't terrified in the slightest. That cold nagging feeling has been pushed to the furthest corner of his mind and the door has been slammed shut, and for a moment he can be just like any other young man, age fifteen; about to turn sixteen in a few weeks' time.

Harry found the magazine he's holding in one hand last summer when he was at Grimmauld Place, Twelve, when they were cleaning the house. It had been tucked between sofa-cushions in one of the many drawing rooms in the house, and he had managed to slip it under his shirt and smuggle it out of the room without anyone noticing, and study it more closely later, during one of those night that he had been unable to sleep (they had been scarcer back then, before... that spring). Its contents had at first made his jaw slacken, but later on it had become his number one method for attaining even some form of relaxation.

Harry turns the pages, absently looking at the very explicit pictures spread out on the pages, until he reaches the very best picture in the entire magazine. Even before he began staring at that one picture, he had noticed that the bindings were more fragile there- whoever had owned the magazine before him had shared his liking for that particular shot.

Harry glances at the locked door of the bathroom out of habit before slipping his hand under his pajama bottoms. He looks at the photo with a tilted head as he begins to stroke himself.

Harry has lost count of how many times that picture has helped him to the heights of euphoria. It never bores him. He just has to be careful, because in a dorm full of adolescent teens a magazine with pictures of naked men in it might cause a slight uproar.

It doesn't take long for Harry to be closing his eyes and relaxing his head against the tiled wall. The familiar pleasure intensifying inside of him is gently reporting to him how close he is starting to be. A tight, aroused sigh spills from his lips.

Just when Harry is about to reach his climax, the door opens and Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, walks into the bathroom. He is fully clothed and looks dead tired but Harry doesn't notice this; he's trying to do three things at once: straighten up, yank his hand out of his pajama bottoms and most importantly hide the magazine in his hand from sight.

Sirius looks amazed and stops dead on his tracks with his hand still on the doorknob as he stares at Harry. Every inch of Harry's body feels hot, particularly his face, but he tries to look as innocent as possible while on the inside he's about as embarrassed as any almost sixteen-year-old young man can be about getting caught in the act.

There is a moment of complete silence. Then, Sirius asks: 'What's the magazine?'

It does not strike as odd to Harry now because he's busy trying to pretend there is no magazine, but later... later he will take notice of Sirius's peculiar choice for the first comment, because it wasn't the expected muttered apology and a quick close of the door, or even a stupid inquiry of what he's doing. No. Sirius is more interested in the magazine.

'Nothing!' Harry says quickly and tries to hide the magazine behind him. He sees the glint that appears in his godfather's eyes, along with the light grin.

Sirius' wand is out in a flash. 'Accio, magazine,' he says, sounding amused. _Amused_ , even though he's just surprised his godson in his private bathroom in the middle of the night adjusting his antenna.

Harry yelps and tries to catch the magazine but it slips from his fingers like drawn by a magnet. He does not think. His only thought is not letting Sirius see the magazine. He springs up, takes a single step and gets tangled in the legs of his pajama-bottoms; they are Ron's, because Harry has none of his own and the legs are too long.

Sirius has advanced into the room, still with that ghost of an amused grin on his face, and let the door shut behind him. When Harry trips, he collides head-on against Sirius' chest and Sirius staggers back. His arm instinctively- or so Harry thinks at the time- wraps around him to steady them.

'Wow, careful,' Sirius says and Harry hears him rustle the magazine.

Suddenly Harry cannot move. His face is buried in Sirius's chest amidst his soft clothes (Sirius is wearing that black hoodies that Harry absolutely adores because of the way it makes Sirius look both slightly bad-ass and totally lovely all at the same time), and he is too scared to move a muscle. Harry is still most definitely aroused, which is making this entire situation that much more embarrassing and awkward and scary.

The silence that follows is almost too much to bear. Harry's heart is beating against his ears and there's a distinctive acid taste in his mouth. Excuses are lining up on his tongue but none get out- it feels like he's left his voice behind at the toilet seat.

'...Oh,' Sirius finally says, and Harry tries and fails to hear what sort of an 'oh' it is. Taken aback 'oh'? Surprised 'oh'? … Repulsed 'oh'?

Fingers briefly circle the back of Harry's neck in an almost absent touch and he freezes even more.

Harry is waiting for Sirius to ask what he's doing in _his_ bathroom with a magazine full of explicit pictures of naked men. But Sirius doesn't ask.

Instead, he says: 'I interrupted you, didn't I?' and Harry doesn't find it odd in his current state of mind that Sirius asks all the wrong questions because this was _Sirius_ , after all. The man's motto seemed to be 'Expect the unexpected from me'.

The touch is back at the nape of Harry's neck. He's not even breathing.

'Don't look so freaked out,' Sirius says. Harry wants to point out to him that he can't see his face so he has no idea what he looks like, but he doesn't. 'What you're doing is normal, y'know.'

Harry cannot believe his ears. Not only because of what Sirius is saying, but how he is saying it.

'You should finish up,' Sirius continues, and he is amused again. 'It's bad for your health to stop halfway through.'

Sirius moves back. Later, Harry reasons the man was probably attempting to gently peel him, Harry, off his chest. But Harry's hands are gripping the front of Sirius's hoodies convulsively and his hold only tightens when he feels the man starting to back away. Somehow Harry feels that, if he lets go of Sirius's shirt and reveals his face to the world again, the man's amused, normal acceptance will disappear and he'll receive the look of repulsion he fears.

What happens next makes Harry start to slightly doubt the reality of all this- he thinks that maybe he's in fact fallen asleep there on the toilet seat and this is all just a dream.

Sirius pulls Harry close again, and his fingers once more circle the nape of his neck. It's a relaxing touch, but because of the state Harry's in, it has quite the opposite effect on him; his muscles tighten and he shivers, and he thinks he must be dreaming because no way should just a caress to his neck make him stiffen fully again.

Suddenly Harry feels a light pressure at the small of his back and his body moves away from it purely on instinct- and straight against Sirius's. Harry's breathing hitches in his throat when he feels a denim-clad thigh slipping between his legs and pressing against his erection quite straightforwardly. Embarrassed panic spins his world about and he tries to wriggle back, but then Sirius tightens his embrace around him and he stills. He's breathing very shallow and his face feels very hot and very red. In that state, it doesn't even occur to him to question Sirius's motives to do such a thing.

'There's nothing to be embarrassed about,' Sirius says softly, and his words seem to seep through Harry's ears into his mind and then trickle down like something hot down his spine.

Harry wants to say 'Yes there is, loads' but he cannot. All the sense that's left in him is concentrated solely on that area around his groin that is pressed against Sirius. And when the man moves, a sensation of amazing, sweet, maddening friction rushes up his spine and pushes a tight gasp out of his mouth.

If Harry could, he would freeze up even more in embarrassment, but his body already is as tight as it can get. He very briefly wonders how on earth he ended up in this situation in the first place.

Harry hears the magazine rustle ever so quietly behind his back.

'Please don't tell anyone,' he says before he can stop himself. He's in such a hurry to say it and his mouth is so tightly pressed against Sirius's warm chest that his words are totally incomprehensible.

'I won't tell anyone,' Sirius says. And Harry can hear that the amusement is _still_ there. He wishes he had mastered that Disappearing Charm last semester, because what he needs now is the dark half-solitude of his room downstairs and the sound of Ron's faint snores- that way he could make himself believe this all has been just a dream.

Sirius releases him and takes a step back so quickly that Harry can't react fast enough. He's left standing in the brightly lit bathroom blinking like a rare animal that's just been excavated from its dark cave under the ground. Harry tries to look at everything else except the man standing in front of him and ends up staring at his toes- but soon realizes that isn't good, either, because now he can see his still tenting pajama-bottoms. If possible, he gets even redder.

'You should finish that,' Sirius says again, sounding amused and gentle and teasing all at the same time.

Harry doesn't move a muscle. He is beginning to think that suffering from enough embarrassment will make you momentarily paralyzed and light-headed.

'… Or do you need a hand?'

Harry doesn't move a muscle. He is beginning to think there is something wrong with his hearing and perception of reality. Sirius couldn't possibly be offering something that... something that...

But Harry sees that the legs in front of him take a step towards him again. He sees Sirius's jeans and hoodies and for some reason his gaze fixes upon the buckle of his belt. He doesn't understand why he's looking, but he can't look away, either. It feels like his entire body along with his vocal chords have been petrified.

Sirius is standing so close, now. Harry keeps staring down, for surely this is a dream. A very good dream. That, or then Sirius is playing with him- giving him the worst prank ever, and Harry doesn't want to be looking at Sirius in the eye when the man stops pretending.

Harry sees Sirius's hand rise from his side and very straightforwardly (or so it feels like to Harry, who has yet to become accustomed to touching someone else's body as freely as his own) slips two fingers under the waistband of Harry's pajama- bottoms. The touch is light, but Harry feels like Siriu had pressed something resonating and hot against his stomach that sends pulsing, thrilling waves throughout his body. He feels like he is suddenly hovering an inch from the ground and his heart is pounding madly in his ears.

The two fingers tug down, and Harry had never known the sensation of cotton sliding along the length of his shaft to feel so lovely and arousing. He is still looking down with his hands on his sides and he sees everything. His head leans against Sirius's chest ever so slightly when the man touches him and his knees feel like promptly giving in, and his world spins around inside of him.

The feel of Sirius's hand on him is different from his own. He watches the hand stroke up once, twice, and it feels like that hand is connected to his spinal chord because at the beginning of each gentle stroke, Harry's world seems to trickle down his spine and then leak out of him as the hand strokes, only to get returned to him but magnified ten times when Sirius's hand falls back down to his hilt again. It is dizzying, unbelievable and so goddamn arousing that Harry fears he will come very much too soon while still not believing this is actually happening. Sirius was spontaneous, but not _this_ spontaneous. He couldn't be. Absolutely couldn't. There had got to be some sort of a 'reason' switch inside the man's head, after all. He couldn't just.. Couldn't just... _Oh GOD._

'Merlin,' Harry gasps and suddenly he's clinging onto Sirius again because his shaky legs won't support him anymore. His release is like a typhoon at the very base of his spine but he can't get there. He moans tightly, his embarrassment and slight confusion and doubt blending into his arousal and giving it a new, redhot lining. He feels a hand coming to hold the back of his neck and now he's _leaning_ onto Sirius, very shamelessly, and Sirius is leaning against the wall and Harry has no idea when they'd moved to get there. He moans, and gasps, all reason leaving him as everything of him becomes fixed on chasing after that euphoria just around the corner. He barely notices it when he's pulling Sirius down on the floor with him and the man follows, and then they're sitting on the tiled floor with Harry in the vee of Sirius's legs, gasping into his shirt and bucking up against his hand and when his release comes it's so _freeing._ So _mind-blowing._

They sit there on the tiled floor and Harry is spent and dizzy and doubting this reality. He misses the sight of Sirius lifting his hand and sucking some of the whiteness off his fingers.

This night is the night it all began.


	2. This is what happens next

2\. This is what happens next:

Harry is in a state of amazed shock for a week after what happened in the bathroom. He keeps glancing around, half expecting to wake up at any moment, but he doesn't.

At first, Harry is too embarrassed and (let's admit it) scared to go back into the bathroom for a... y'know. But soon his young body shows exactly what happens when it's not allowed to release on a regular basis. And Harry cannot do it in his and Ron's room. He cannot do it in the shower, because only one works in the entire house (if you count out Sirius' own private shower). Sirius' bathroom is the only place where no-one will think of searching for him, and that's why Harry started going there in the first place. When Harry goes there, he tries to ignore the faint hope at the back of his mind that Sirius will come and give him a hand again.

Harry hasn't attempted to reason out what happened, because he's pretty sure he knows what it was all about. Sirius is bored, and Harry isn't too sorry if he's the one to help Sirius escape that boredom every now and then. He knows it would be totally frowned upon if anyone found out but... what did he care, really. He thinks he's entitled to be selfish and unstable and unpredictable every now and then. Considering.

But Sirius doesn't come to help him out, and almost two weeks pass like that, as they all continue living like nothing's wrong- or that even though everything's wrong, it doesn't affect them in their cozy little cocoon. The Order continues to hold its meetings and Harry and his friends are still kept in the dark. Order members come and go like the house were a regularly used pit stop. Since the cleaning was done last summer, they are left to their own devices to try and make the time pass.

Harry doesn't go out much because he's been told it's too dangerous; that's why he's in the house in the first place instead of under the protection of the charms at Privet Drive. Those charms only included the house, not its surroundings, and Harry would have gone mad if he'd been told to stay indoors with the Dursleys for two whole months.

A week before his birthday, Harry's up in the bathroom in the middle of the day. He knows its very risky, but he cannot _not_ go. His friends and the other Weasleys occupying the house are out to buy their school-supplies. The Order is having an extra meeting downstairs in the kitchen. Harry has taken a nap and woken up sullen but madly aroused- up until then he didn't know such a combination exists, but apparently it does.

Harry doesn't have the magazine this time, only his mind. He's pushed up his shirt high on his chest and his jeans and boxers have been pushed down. Subconsciously he knows he's put up a show for Sirius, and the more he tries to deny the thought the more arousing it gets, and in fact it's the string of events that might occur if Sirius walked in right then, playing inside his head, that's making his hand move so fast and his body to shudder so.

Every inch of his skin is tingling pleasantly and the pressure is gradually building up to breaking point. Harry encourages his body; tries to think of the most sexy and arousing things there are in this world (like Sirius's smile, or the patch of naked skin on his lower back and hips when he leans to reach something across the table and his shirt rides up his body). He's getting there... _getting there..._ almost there...

He feels a thumb sweeping past his lower lip and his eyes snap open. For a moment he's panicking even though he knows who it is and his hand and body freezes. But Sirius smiles at him, that very special crooked kind of a smile that seemed to know everything and promise even more, and he relaxes again.

Sirius leans his hand to the wall over Harry's head and watches. His fingers lazily trickle over Harry's jaw and catch his chin to tilt his head back, and Harry's mind is all _pleasepleasePLEASE._ He doesn't know how far Sirius is willing to take his playing around, but he hopes it's further than the farthest horison.

Sirius leans in to nip on Harry's lower lip and he comes. Very hard.

'They need you downstairs,' Sirius says when Harry can understand speech again. Now he's standing in front of him again, hands in his pockets, thumbs sticking out, and he looks like a pleased cat despite his canine Animagius form. Harry muses he can almost see the tail wagging behind his back.

'Alright,' he says and rises.

Harry knows that he's getting played around with, and the slight feel of upset he gets of that knowledge is only provoking the thrilling excitement and pleasure burning in his chest. He knows how Sirius is. He has seen it. Everyone thinks he hasn't, but he has. He knows everyone would prefer it if he had a shiny and idolized image of Sirius in his head, but _he_ prefers what he's really seeing, which is an imperfect man with his flaws- the biggest of which recently seems to be aiding his godson into orgasm. Harry only wonders, how long will Sirius be satisfied with only that. But since Harry has fancied the man for years, he's more curious that shy.

One night when Harry goes into the bathroom, the man is already there. He gets glanced at over a shoulder, and Sirius looks like he knew that Harry would choose this moment to enter. He finishes pulling his belt from the loops of his jeans and it whips itself gently. The sound makes Harry start.

'C'mere,' Sirius says soft, and a flutter of nervous butterflies takes flight in Harry's stomach.

He closes the door and hears the 'click!' it makes as it locks itself. His legs feel like rubber as he walks to Sirius, and then rounds him so they stand face to face.

'They're getting worried about you,' Sirius says. 'You're secluding yourself too much.'

'….I'm fine.'

Harry can see what Sirius wants. It's like he's suddenly given access to the man's mind as if he were using Legilimence. But he doesn't think he has the guts to do it.

Sirius is opening his jeans and Harry briefly wonders when it was that their relationship has turned into something like this; something where the sight of Sirius undoing the button in his jeans gets him to response with more intense butterflies in his stomach and a heat in his body and cheeks, instead of a gawk and a hurried, panicky exit.

Sirius is still taller than Harry; he always will be. Harry has to look up to meet the grey eyes, and then there's a hand at the back of his neck. It's as much of a caress as it is a demanding question, and Harry very willingly drops down to his knees- he had the guts do it after all. His eyes never leave Sirius'.

Harry wonders what would happen if someone came in now. They wouldn't be able to explain it away, not even Sirius who Harry was pretty sure could talk the Devil himself to set himself on fire if he put all his efforts into it.

They both pull Sirius's boxers out of the way. Harry leans in, and that is the first of many, many times to come.

'Harry, dear, what's that on your lip?'

It's breakfast time, and all the occupants of the house plus a few members of the Order are in the kitchen.

Harry's tongue absently flicks over his swollen lower lip. Sirius hadn't settled with just nipping him last night, the man had kissed him very fully and passionately, and it had been the most erotic sensation Harry had ever experienced. He just wishes Sirius would sleep with him soon.

'I had a nightmare,' Harry says, while feeling a particular hot and lustful gaze sweep over him. He doesn't dare look at Sirius, who is sitting at the far end of the table by the fire. That was his place. 'I must have bit my lip.'

Mrs Weasley reaches over the table to catch his chin in her fingers and tilt his head towards the light. She is silent a moment, as is the rest of the table party. Then, she pats Harry's cheek gently and resumes her eating. That was the extent of her mothering these days. Harry knows that something in the relationship between him and the rest of the world radically changed after last spring and what happened, but he cannot put his finger on it.

After breakfast, when Harry's walking up the stairs to go somewhere and do something, he feels an arm gently wrap around his throat and he gets hauled into the drawing room by his side. The door clicks shut and he's slammed against a wall, Sirius presses against him, and then a gentle tongue soothes the bite on his lip. His head is cradled between Sirius' hands and the man's body is warm and solid against his, and Harry doesn't think there is a better feeling in this world.

'She's meddling,' Sirius says and laughs. He's laughing a lot recently.

'She won't figure it out,' Harry says.

'None of them will,' Sirius agrees, and then his hand is already pushing its way under Harry's jeans. Harry had been expecting that. Anticipating, even, and the result is that he's already half hard. He moans gently into Sirius's shoulder- into his soft black hoodies.

A knock sounds on the door.

'Harry?' It's Hermione. 'Harry, are you there?'

Harry fights back a moan when Sirius bluntly ignores the calling voice and starts to jerk him off.

'Yeah?' he says as evenly as he can. He tries to make Sirius pause- Merlin's pants, he would never try and make him _stop_ \- but the man only pins his hand to the wall and continues. Harry's legs turn to hot jelly.

'We're going to play some Exploding Snap upstairs in the living room. D'you wanna come?'

'Of course you wanna come,' Sirius murmurs hotly into Harry's ear and he almost moans again. 'Accourse you wanna come into my hand... or into my mouth... Hmm?'

'… Harry?'

'I- I'll pass!' Harry says, forcing his voice to stay as even as can be. 'Maybe- Maybe later!'

'Yeah, after I've made a mess of you on that table,' Sirius murmurs to him, and Harry closes his eyes. He hears Hermione's distancing footsteps. Then a blinding rush of pleasure overrides his senses and he's clinging onto Sirius quite shamelessly and moaning into his shoulder again. He grasps at the soft fabric and feels shoulderblades and the smooth planes of Sirius's back.

Sirius guides Harry to the table at their side. Harry is dazed, his legs are wobbly, and he slumps to sit on the edge. Sirius kneels before him, stripping him of his clothes, before his head dips and euphoria leaks into Harry. His fingers sink deep into the unruly, long hair and absently map out the shape of Sirius's head as they clutch against it convulsively.

Seriously, Harry wishes Sirius would just sleep with him already.


	3. This is how it ends

3\. This is how it ends

'Harry, you OK?'

Harry lifts his eyes from the book he's reading. They are in the bigger living room of Grimmauld Place, Twelve, the one that's filled with books to the brim so it would be more apt to call it the library of Grimmauld Place, Twelve. Harry sits by the table by the window, and the window is getting whipped by a rare dose of rain. Thunder clapped earlier that day, but now its quiet save for the murmur and drizzling of the water against the roof and walls.

His friends are sitting on the two armchairs near the table. Hermione has a book in her hands, now laid down onto her lap, and Ron has been just idly staring at the ceiling. But now they are both looking at Harry.

Harry forces a chuckle out of his mouth. 'Accourse. Why d'you ask?'

Hermione and Ron glance at each other, and Harry can tell from that single glance that his friends have immediately come to the conclusion that he's trying to be difficult with them.

'We're worried about you,' Hermione says.

'Don't be,' Harry says and returns to his book.

A hand brushes past his wrist and he looks up, surprised.

'Harry, what is this?' Hermione asks. She has tugged Harry's sleeve up to his elbow, and the combined light of the fire and the lamp on the table in front of Harry make the bruises on Harry's forearm stand out like a silent scream.

Harry stares at the bruises on his arm. Oops. He's tried to tell Sirius to be more careful but the man just won't listen. That trait of his is definitely a part of his charm but right now it's quite... troublesome.

Harry returns his attention to the book. 'It's a bruise,' he says, and pulls his sleeve back down.

'Where did it come from?'

Harry knows Hermione doesn't want to know the truth. That it (along with its identical pair on his other forearm) has come from Sirius's hands when the man was pinning him down against the bed last night, teasing him to death with the eluding promise of finally giving him what he has been wanting and needing for a long time now.

'I dunno,' Harry lies. 'I guess I had a nightmare.' He doesn't chance a glance at Hermione because he knows disbelief and doubt is what he will see.

'… Harry...' Hermione moves closer to perch on the very edge of her chair, her voice quiet and earnest now. 'Harry, whatever it is, you can tell us. You know that, right? You don't... You don't have to go through it alone.'

Harry isn't listening properly. He has suddenly realized that today- tonight- is his birthday. After much persuasion, he's managed to get Sirius to promise him to take his virginity for real when he turns sixteen.

Harry turns to his friends. 'What time is it?' he asks.

They look at him like he's gone insane. Hermione checks the time from her wrist-watch.

'Ten to nine,' she says. 'Oh, but _Harry-'_

'I need to go,' Harry says and rises. 'The Order's having a meeting tonight, right?'

'Yes, but-'

Harry does not listen- he leaves the living room, and his friends are left behind looking very anxious.

Harry needs to get ready. And what he's getting ready for fills him with the sort of nervous excitement that makes him feel like his stomach is full of flapping butterfly-wings and that he's hovering an inch off the ground.

When Harry is ready, he sits on Sirius' bed and waits. The clock ticks silently on the wall and the rain sighs and moans outside.

Harry has forgotten how this all began. He has forgotten what his life was like before this all started. His life before seems very distant and pale. As Harry sits there and waits with the most lovable nervousness fluttering in him, he feels that this here, this what he's feeling and what Sirius has taught him, is his real life. His entire life. And he feels like he doesn't need anything more.

The clock in the corner chimes half past eleven. What feels like a blink of an eye later, it chimes midnight. When the last, soft chime has faded into the night, Harry hears the doorknob rattling.

Sirius comes into the room silent like a shadow. Quiet as a ghost. He smiles when he sees Harry sitting on his bed, cross-legged and steady-eyed. He slides to sit on the edge of the bed so that they're facing each other.

'They found the bruises,' Harry says. 'I told you to be careful.'

If possible, Sirius's smile widens. 'I told you I didn't feel like it.'

'What if they find out?'

There's a healthy amount of contempt in the look that Sirius gives Harry. 'They have a war to fight,' he says and moves closer. His touch is gentle as a feather when he puts his hand against Harry's chest and pushes. Harry falls back on the bed and Sirius leans over him. 'And besides,' he continues. The light of bedside lamp is reflecting in his eyes. 'What do they care who we screw.'

Harry laughs, but half of it is forced. Suddenly he's very nervous. He's always nervous in the beginning, before Sirius makes it go away. 'How was the meeting?' he asks.

'Don't even get me started on that.' Sirius tugs off Harry's shirt and tosses it onto the floor. Then, he undoes the button and zipper in his jeans, and pulls them and Harry's underwear off, too. They disappear onto the floor, and Harry's left naked in Sirius's bed. Cool air caresses his skin that's suddenly very hot. And when the elegant, skillful hands run over his body, Harry's breathing hitches.

'What did you tell them about these?' Sirius asks. His hands wrap around Harry's forearms to hold them against the bed, and his fingers fit perfectly into the marks on Harry's skin.

'That I had a nightmare,' Harry says. 'They didn't buy it.'

'They're not stupid.'

Sirius doesn't offer a solution. Harry doesn't ask for one. Instead, he sneaks his knee under the hem of Sirius's black hoodies to try and push it up.

'You promised me,' Harry says with a small whine when Sirius straightens and his hoodies falls back into place. 'And why're you never naked?'

'Because this's all about you,' Sirius says. Chuckles. Slides a hand up Harry's thigh. 'So shut up and just enjoy it.'

'… Professor Lupin gave me a funny look today,' Harry says. 'Like he _knew._ I swear he smelled me in the kitchen.'

A fine eyebrow arches. 'What exactly could he do?' Sirius asks smoothly.

Harry shrugs. 'Can't I worry if I feel like it?'

'There's no need for that.'

Harry knows. His heartrate fastens when Sirius leans over him, and his hands rise up to brush against his sides; his fingers tangle in and then hold onto the soft hoodies. A soft kiss brushes over his forehead, then the tip of his nose and finally, his lips.

Harry's world stops, and then seems to spill over its edges just like every other time Sirius has kissed him. It's so exciting and arousing and thrilling and pleasurable that Harry's can't choose what to feel most intensely. It all ends up in a hot, pinching, twisting sensation in the pit of his stomach that makes his legs go numb and wobbly.

Harry loves it when Sirius kisses him, slowly introduces him to all the ways there are to kiss. He also loves when Sirius is kissing him someplace else, and now he'd want that. Sirius seems to sense this and his teasing fingers trickle down Harry's side. Harry croons into the kiss (after trying all his life to stay invisible, he's still a tad embarrassed by all the small and big sounds Sirius can coax out of him during these... sessions) and then moans when the touch falls away. He wriggles impatiently, trying to hint, but the hands around his arms briefly tightens their hold and his breathing hitches again as arousal streaks down his spine like a warm wave.

'We have all night, y'know,' Sirius murmurs against his lips, sounding amused. 'Don't be in such a hurry.'

Harry doesn't say he's at the end of his patience- he has been for ages now. Sirius has teased him and teased him; used his fingers, used his mouth, used about everything else than what Harry truly lusts after.

Harry doesn't answer; he only lifts his head to kiss Sirius again. Strands of the man's hair tickle his cheeks and he can feel rough denim rub against the sensitive insides of his thighs. The brush of the hoodies against his skin is like a sibilant caress.

They have the entire night, that's true, but Harry doesn't want to wait a second longer. But, like every other time before, Sirius is in control. Sirius decides their pace, and Harry just has to abide. It would be annoying if it weren't so totally arousing.

Sirius turns Harry around and he wriggles into the bed, tucking pillows under his head and waist. Excitement and nervousness mingle in his chest like a thrilling flame, heightening his sense of touch and making his head feel light.

A soft kiss is pressed against the back of his neck and he shivers in anticipation. Slowly the touch trickles lower, tracing the length of his spine, and by the time Sirius's mouth reaches the small of his back and his hot tongue flicks out, Harry isn't breathing at all anymore. Every beat of his heart is like a beat of a drum against his ears and sternum. Fingers spread him open, and as the hot tongue traces down, Harry moans into the pillows and offers himself some more. He closes his eyes and loses himself into enjoying what's happening.

Both hot and cool shivers run over Harry in turns, and soon he's lightly squirming against the bed, panting softly, lifting himself up even more against the maddeningly pleasurable fingers and mouth. His hand reaches around to his front so he can touch himself, he fears he'll go crazy if he doesn't, but Sirius guides his hand away.

'Not yet,' he husks.

'Yeah but-.' Harry stutters and gasps himself into silence when rough stubble rubs across his skin. Gods, he loves when Sirius does that.

'Not yet,' Sirius says again, and Harry feels him rise some. Fingers rub some of the tension on Harry's back away before he hears the distinctive sound of a beltbuckle being opened. '...You don't want to come yet, right?'

Butterflies spur into life in Harry's stomach again and his breathing hitches once more. No, of course he doesn't. This here is something he's been yearning for for ages now. He shakes his head and tries to inhale. Instead, he gasps when fingers slide into him again and move about. He moans and his hips rise to move against the touch.

Sirius presses into Harry with his fingers once, twice, before pulling them out. Harry hears a silent plop when Sirius opens the tube of lube, and then he can feel its mouth against his opening.

A shiver runs up Harry's spine. 'It's cold,' he gasps and wriggles some. His head is spinning. He hears Sirius chuckle.

'It'll heat up.'

Harry's every breath is suddenly very laboured. He doesn't remember anymore how many nights he's dreamt of this; he on his stomach, legs spread, Sirius between them, kneeling behind him, lubing him up, making him ready- ready to get... Oh sweet Merlin...

Harry feels the blunt head of Sirius' prick sliding up against his opening, teasing, and his fingers clutch onto the bedsheets as he forgets to breathe. A gentle touch traces the length of his spine.

'You need to relax,' Sirius says. 'Breathe.'

Harry almost says he doesn't want to breathe because breathing would mean he might get distracted from what was happening and he doesn't want to lose a single atom of it. But he knows Sirius is right- as always.

So he closes his eyes and inhales once, twice, trying to contain his nervous excitement and anticipation. The hand now holding the back of his neck massages it some before the touch moves down between his shoulderblades and Sirius presses.

'Relax,' the man repeats softly. 'You need to enjoy this.'

Harry already is. But, he wriggles some to get even more comfortable, and inhales. When he exhales, he nods ever so slightly. Sirius squeezes his neck one last time before moving his hand back down to Harry's waist to steady it as he starts to press in slowly.

It's uncomfortable, and Harry buries his face into the pillows. He reaches to touch himself again, and this time Sirius doesn't stop him. Pleasure mixed with the uncomfortable feeling streaks up his spine and makes his legs feel weak. When he thinks of what is happening- Sirius finally sliding into him, slow and steady and big and uncomfortable but still somehow arousing- his stomach tightens into a hot ball that sends rivulets of heat to every bit of him. Harry groans, and Sirius goes still.

'Don't stop,' Harry gasps, almost fervent now. 'Don't stop now.'

When Sirius leans over Harry and Harry feels the cool buckle of Sirius's belt pressing against the back of his thigh, he realizes Sirius is in as deep as he can get. He feels so full and stretched and still so uncomfortable that it makes him wanna squirm, but it doesn't actually hurt. His backside seems to be pulsing in unison with his heart.

'Tell me what you want,' Sirius says low, teasing again, his voice thicker and richer now, as he runs his mouth over Harry's jawline. He presses into Harry even more even though he's already into the hilt, and Harry groans as the uncomfortable feeling gets stronger, but with it comes a feel of pleasure unlike anything he's ever experienced before. It sucks all strength from him and leaves him shivering. 'Tell me _how_ you want it. I need to hear you say it.'

'I- I-' Harry almost blabbers, the uncomfortableness fading away now as that place starts to pulse and wring his stomach into a tight knot.

'Say it,' Sirius demands of him gently. He's leaning onto his hands now, and Harry can feel the hem of his hoodies brushing against his lower back. The denim against the backs of his thighs feels deliciously rough and... and dirty. Dirty because Sirius is fully clothed, in the same clothes he always wore; his favourite clothes, while he had Harry naked and sprawled out under him in a house full of people who would do terrible things if they found out about any of what was going on right under their noses.

'I- I want you to- to f-... f-' The word won't leave Harry's lips even though his mind is screaming it. The word makes him feel embarrassed and vulnerable and so _surrendering_. Harry inhales and when Sirius surprises him with another grind the words shoot from him like magicked in a hasty mumble. ' _Fuckme!'_

'Good boy,' Sirius gasps, and he starts to pull out.

In an instant, the uncomfortable feeling is back in Harry's gut but he bears with it. And when Sirius starts to press in again, he's glad he did. It takes a few intrusions and retreats before it starts to feel good. Verygood. When it starts feeling very _very_ good, Harry's quickly gasping for air, his hips tentatively rising to meet the thrusts that make his toes curl with pleasure. He's never thought it would feel this wonderful, this... _right_.

Sirius is slowly rolling his hips into Harry, gently and gradually building up the pressure in the base of Harry's spine. The buckle of Sirius's belt makes a light clink! every time he moves. The sheets smell of light detergent and Sirius's sweet sharp soap. They're soft. Sirius's hands are gentle but sure on Harry's hips. His light sighs of pleasure are ragged and low. The mad burn that's now leaking to every bit of Harry's body is more intense than he could ever had dreamed of. It makes his muscles tight and keening for the release that comes too soon. (We have to remember that he is only sixteen and this is his first time, after all.)

Harry's release surprises him; it hauls him along like a typhoon with no warning and he moans high and long as the relieving waves course through him and make him tremble. Amidst it, he can feel Sirius riding him through his orgasm. When it's almost over, Harry feels the hand that has returned to steady his hips tighten its hold once more. Sirius lets out a light sigh, his head resting on Harry's shoulder. Harry tries to savor the feel of it but his mind won't co-operate and concentrate enough.

For a moment, the world leaves him floating in a warm darkness.

Harry is certain that he has only slept a moment (he's surprised that he's slept at all- how could he after that?! He should have cuddled into Sirius's warmth and after a moment they would have done it again.. and again... and again) but when he opens his eyes, the pale light of morning is filtering into the room and Remus Lupin is crouched next to him on the floor beside the bed.

Harry starts up before realizing he's pretty much naked. He hurriedly pulls the blankets tighter around himself. He doesn't like the look on his ex-Professor's face at all.

He wants to say he can explain but not a word comes from his mouth.

'Harry, what're you doing?' Lupin asks gently. 'Why're you here?'

'Why're you here?' Remus Lupin asks as he sits crouched next to Sirius's bed. He is nervous and worried, like everyone else in the house, but he tries not to let it show as he looks at Harry. The boy doesn't look too good. He has deep black circles under his eyes, his hair is a mess, and his face is too narrow. He hasn't been eating well since that spring.

The tired, almost feverish green eyes flick over Harry's shoulder to look behind him on the bed like he was expecting to see someone there. But that side of the bed is empty. It's messy, and Sirius' old favourite clothes- his worn out black hoodies and jeans- are tossed onto the sheets almost carelessly. But it's empty.

Remus Lupin looks at Harry, who is looking at the empty bed like it was supposed to hold someone. Remus Lupin knows, just like every other member of that household knew, that Harry had become somewhat unstable after that spring and what had happened at the Ministry. More than once they had heard him talking to himself, like he'd been talking to someone else, and he'd been absent from meals and socializing more and more as the summer had gone on. Mysterious bruises had appeared on his body, and he had claimed them to be from nightmares. But Ron had said that Harry didn't sleep. Or that if he did, he did it someplace else than their shared room on the third floor. And the bruises didn't look like something a nightmare would bring about. They were too intentional. Some were saying that Harry was hurting himself because of what had happened, but Remus Lupin couldn't bring himself to believe that. He was certain he had smelled something- or some _one-_ on Harry some time ago.

'… Harry?' Remus Lupin says softly, and the almost feverish eyes jump to him. Suddenly, he has to say it. 'Harry, you know that Sirius is gone, right?'

'Why're you here?' Remus Lupin asks, and Harry tries to come up with a good excuse. His eyes jump behind him but Sirius is not there- only his clothes. He realizes Sirius must have woken up earlier than him and had the sense to go and take a shower.

Harry's body feels... _used_. He likes that feeling a lot. The side of his neck is tingling, like a hungry mouth had just a moment ago been gnawing on it, and his backside feels... there's no other word for it than _spent._ He can't wait for Sirius to sleep with him again.

'...Harry?' Remus Lupin calls softly, and Harry's eyes jump to him. He needs to come up with a good excuse ASAP so that-

'Harry, you know that Sirius is gone, right?'

Harry stares at Remus Lupin. The amber eyes look worried.

'You know that he... died, right?'

Harry wants to laugh but it gets stuck in his throat. He looks into the worried, amber eyes and suddenly his world spins around and upside down. Suddenly, he's falling. He tries to resist, he's terrified (he can still feel Sirius in him; the man's lips against his neck, his gentle touch); Something that he's been blocking out now ruthlessly sweeps him along like someone had opened the door to a pitch-black cellar and now the shadows were surging through.

 _They were in a vast room that was made of stone and they were standing in the middle of it. Gigantic stone steps traced upwards on the sloping walls. Curses were flying every which way and there was a hand pulling on his arm, yanking him back behind a rock that a curse had carved out from the stone-steps. A hot body pressed against him, shielding him._

Harry shakes his head.

' _We need to run on three,' Sirius said, looking at Harry in the eye, making sure he understood. Blood was trailing down from a wound on his temple, dirtying his hair, dripping onto his collar, but he didn't seem to take notice. Harry was his top-priority. 'When we get there, you hide and let me deal with whoever comes.'_

 _Harry nodded. Sirius nodded, took his hand, and they ran on three. Harry hid, and Sirius fought. They were winning._

Harry doesn't remember any of this. He's made himself forget.

 _They won. The Death Eaters swarming in the Death Chamber were defeated. Harry, who had foolishly went to save his godfather from a death that wasn't his just yet, and his friends were saved. The Order had come to rescue them._

 _They won, and Sirius came to collect Harry. He was sweaty, dirty, bleeding from a dozen different places; he was_ alive _. Sirius pulled Harry up and hugged him. Heat was emitting from him like he had a heating charm placed on him._

 _Sirius took Harry's hand. Harry thought it was a bit childish- he felt a little childish, but didn't pull away. Sirius's hand was strong and warm, and for a fleeting moment Harry wondered if he should tell Sirius how he felt. He decided he should. The adrenaline was still running through him and he knew he wouldn't have the guts to do it later._

 _'Sirius?' Harry called. Sirius stopped and turned to face him with a light smile on his face. 'Sirius, I lo-'_

 _A bright red light flashed, blinding Harry. When he could see again, Sirius was on his knees in front of him, looking amazed. He coughed once, and blood sprayed from his mouth._

 _Harry dropped onto his knees and caught Sirius before he fell over. Sirius coughed again, and Harry's shoulder and chest felt hot and wet._

 _'Fuck,' Sirius gasped. He slid down and to the side, too heavy for Harry to support. He was dead before his head touched the ground._

The memory spirals back into darkness and Harry is looking at Remus Lupin again. He looks past the man into the room. The pale morning light is giving it a meek, colourless look.

'No,' Harry says.

'No,' Harry says, and Remus Lupin can see the almost mad gleam in his eyes. Suddenly he knows that everything they have feared has been accurate.

Bellatrix Lestrange had hung onto life long enough to blast a curse that almost tore Sirius in half. Immediately after casting it, she had died.

There was nothing anyone could have done; Sirius had passed immediately. But still they had run to them, to Harry who was covered in Sirius' blood, and to Sirius's lifeless body sprawled on the floor in front of him. Sprays of blood had splashed on Harry's face and for a moment it had looked like he'd been crying tears of blood.

That had been almost two months ago.

Now Remus Lupin is crouched next to the bed of his dead best friend, whom he smelled on Harry mere nights before. Remus Lupin is not stupid, but he is not optimistic, either. He knows that Sirius died.

'Harry-'

' _No._ '

Harry's fingers sweep past his throat; he's almost clawing at himself like was finding it hard to breathe. His hand is shaking. ' _No, I-'_

' _No, I-_ ' Harry begins, but doesn't know how to continue. He feels dizzy and empty and confused. His memories are like dead but still dangerous snakes coiling about in his head. His cheeks feel warm and wet, like Sirius's blood was still covering them- or like Sirius's kisses were still burning his skin.

It was real- all of it had been real, there's no way he could have just up and invented it.

' _No,'_ Harry says, because he doesn't understand. He looks at Remus Lupin, then past him into the empty room, and finally behind him. The bed behind him is empty, but every inch of his body knows it wasn't empty before.

Harry wants to faint so he could escape the look in the amber eyes. He just wants to stop being aware of the world he no longer understands.

'But I-'Harry begins, but then can't go on. He sits up properly and closes his eyes. He doesn't know what's happened.

Remus Lupin thinks he knows what's happened to Harry. Temporary amnesia, caused by his magic, a self-defense mechanism of sorts but... It doesn't explain everything. It doesn't explain how he was able to smell Sirius so strongly on Harry so long after he had died. It doesn't explain what he is seeing now.

What is he seeing now?

Faster than the blink of an eye, Harry who was sitting, is now suddenly laying on his back on the bed again. Remus Lupin starts, because there is little the keen senses of a werewolf don't follow. Then he starts again, because he can see someone else on the bed as well. His form comes together slow, like an image built of shadows and smoke, but none the less recognizable.

Remus Lupin sees the form of his recently deceased friend take shape on the bed next to Harry. He seems to grow inside his clothes left scattered on the bed, filling them like watching an enlargment spell take place until he's laying there next to Harry. The light smile on the familiar face is very Sirius-like, as is the way he puts a finger over his lips. Remus Lupin watches as Sirius leans over Harry and kisses his forehead, the tip of his nose and finally, his mouth.

Sirius murmurs something to Harry, and though the words are too quiet to be heard even by a werewolf, his voice sounds very authentic.

Harry isn't out cold after all. Lupin sees his hand rise, and brush against the long black hair. Fingers tangle in it weakly before the hand falls back down.

The piercing grey eyes find Lupin again. For a moment, it looks like Sirius wants to say something, but then he just rolls off the bed on the other side and straightens.

Lupin rushes around the bed and attempts to grab Sirius's arm. He is shocked when he can; he feels skin and bone under his hand, very real. Very... _alive._

'You died,' he gasps, in shock. His grip is tight and his mind is struggling to understand.

'… Yeah,' Sirius admits. He sounds like himself. He _smells_ like himself. His grin is so Sirius that it hurts. 'Catch you later, Moony.'

He's disappeared. Lupin's hand is clutched around air. Behind him on the bed, Sirius's clothes have disappeared, too.

Lupin sinks to sit on the edge of the bed. Harry stirs slightly.

'He'll be back again,' he murmurs sleepily. 'He promised... me.' His voice fades as he falls asleep again.

Remus Lupin can only stare at Harry, who turns to the side and pulls the blankets over his shoulders.

He does not understand.

* * *

 **A.N.** To anyone wondering... No, I have not dropped my other stories. I'm going to finish them before posting the rest~


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